


City of Nights

by srmarybadass



Category: True Blood
Genre: M/M, author's early attempt at slash, faux historicalness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris, 1587. Godric goes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	City of Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written and originally put on LJ in August 2009.  
> Very early attempt at REAL SLASH~~.  
> And, uh, please ignore any historical/architectural inaccuracies. There are many.

Paris, 1587

Paris certainly had its charms, Eric decided as he woke. Plenty of food, enough culture to keep him entertained, and, best of all, no caves. Well, he had been told that there were catacombs under the city- a claim he wanted to investigate at some point during their stay- but for now, more pressing matters called. Specifically, the night.

Eric sat up and slithered out of the bed, one of two in the underground chamber. It was rather stuffy, but the floor was stone and Eric had stayed in holes in the ground that were far, far worse than this. There was a set of clothes draped over the chair, and he pulled them on happily. A perfect fit.

“Our hostess is in danger of spoiling us,” a voice came from the other side of the room. “I fear we may have to go find a pit to sleep in and rags to wear before we become accustomed to such opulence. After all, we must retain our humble worldview.”

“Speak for yourself, old man,” Eric grinned. “If she wants to spoil us, so be it. After all, how often does one have two such distinguished vampires in their cellar?”

“I would hardly call this a cellar,” Godric said. “It is nice to see human architecture finally beginning to evolve into something aesthetically pleasing. Although-”

“Yes, yes, it is nothing compared to Rome,” Eric rolled his eyes at his maker as he yanked on the boots. Godric, who had probably risen an hour before him, was already fully dressed. “Shall we go upstairs, then?”

Godric opened the thick wooden door that led to a short hallway. At the end of the hallway, there was a small staircase, and on top of that staircase there was a trapdoor. Minding his height, Eric opened it and pushed the rug aside, emerging in a bedroom- also without windows, oddly enough, although the bed was obviously not slept in. He followed his ears- the two had only been in Paris for three days, and most of that had been spent recuperating after a hard and hungry journey- and found the owner of the house seated by the fireplace, talking with a middle-aged man and woman.

“Good evening, Marcela,” Godric greeted. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh, I am sure your eyes must be aching from having to stare at him all the time,” the pale young woman purred, surveying the statuesque masculinity that was Eric Northman. “All the same, I appreciate the sentiment. How was your sleep? Were the accommodations satisfactory?”

“Beyond satisfactory into the realm of heavenly,” Eric replied. “Thank you for the clothes, by the way. They fit perfectly.”

“You are most welcome. I was worried they might be too small,” Marcela said.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble?”

“Nonsense, nonsense,” she stood up with a rustle of her plum-colored skirts. “It is not often that I have two such distinguished gentlemen as guests in my house.”

Eric looked at Godric. See?

Godric rolled his eyes.

“Are these other guests of yours?” the seemingly youthful vampire asked.

Marcela gasped. “Oh, foolish me! You must think me terribly rude, forgive me. Yes, these are guests who are staying here as well. This,” she gestured to the woman, who gave a curtsy, “is Madame Margeaux Monteaux, seamstress, and this is Monsieur Karl Wolfe, a distinguished scholar at the Sorbonne.” Monsieur Karl Wolfe nodded his head in a very distinguished manner.

“We are pleased to meet you,” Monsieur Wolfe said.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Godric politely replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, I fear we must steal Marcela away from you.”

“That is perfectly fine, I was going to sew for awhile before retiring,” Madame Monteaux informed them. “And you, Karl?”

“I was going to read before sleeping,” he said stiffly, and the two ambled off in separate directions as Eric and Godric settled themselves into the formerly occupied chairs. The firelight danced across Godric’s face, and for a brief moment, Eric was reminded of that night some five centuries past, when Godric had the blood of his friends smeared across his boyish face and Eric became death.

“I was unaware you were running a boardinghouse for seamstresses and scholars, Marcela,” Godric commented.

“I’m not. Margeaux is a witch of some power, and Karl is leader of the Paris pack.”

“Werewolves?” Eric commented.

Marcela nodded. “There is a good sized pack in the city, as well as a number of lone shifters.”

“And how many other vampires?” Godric inquired. “I have not been here since the Great Plague.”

“There are a number of them, Paris being such a large city and all,” Marcela replied, hair as black as Godric’s glowing in the soft light. “For the most part, we are careful about who we feed on, and when, and how often, and thus we are not hunted as much as in some places.”

“Who is the King- or Queen- of this territory? Must we pay them tribute, or meet with them before hunting in their areas?” Eric asked.

“Incidentally, that would be me,” the vampire queen informed them. “And you must both pay me the tribute of your shirts. Right now. And I won’t be giving them back.”

Godric laughed. “Congratulations, Marcela. Last I heard, Jacques of Lourdes was ruling Paris. How long has it been under you?”

“Two decades,” Marcela replied. “For the most part, vampires here keep to themselves or to their small nests. There has been little in-fighting, and the last challenge to my authority was fifteen years ago.”

Eric nodded. It was rare to see a Queen, as opposed to a King, and he had a great respect for the lovely vampire sitting in front of him. To take control over such a city as Paris was no easy feat, and although she downplayed it, Eric had no doubts that she was a very, very powerful woman indeed. He was glad she was Godric’s friend.

“Are there rules for hunting here?” Eric inquired.

“Somewhat,” Marcela replied. “If you’re in the streets past midnight, the only people roaming are thieves and prostitutes, for the most part, and those are fair game. Try to avoid anyone well-dressed- they may be a noble or wealthy citizen, and their death would bring notice to the humans. Sheep belonging to other vampires are off-limits, of course, but they rarely stray from the sides of their masters, so you probably won’t have to worry about that.”

Eric and Godric nodded.

“Perhaps I should take you out myself,” Marcela suggested. “To give you a feel of the city. You are hungry, yes? I would certainly enjoy a bite to eat.”

Eric and Godric grinned.

 

The ancient Norseman raced through the darkened, deserted streets of the city, wind whipping his hair and a grin across his face. What luck, to find a couple of soldiers wandering the streets after a night of drinking! He could scent their fear, their sweat, their blood- and it was delicious.

After a few minutes of letting the soldiers run, Eric picked up his speed and cornered them against a wall. They tried to escape to the side, but Marcela calmly stepped out of the shadows, fangs as white as her skin glinting in the moonlight.

“Demons, begone!” one soldier cried, fumbling with a string around his neck and producing a cross. A laugh came from above them.

“I don’t think so.” Godric leapt down from the rooftop he had perched on.

“You and your heights,” Eric grumbled.

“I enjoy high places,” Godric grumbled black.

“Gentlemen? You can have your little lover’s spat later”- both vampires glared at Marcela- “after we eat.”

“But of course, my fair lady,” Eric grinned, before leaping upon the nearest soldier, feeling rather than seeing that his companions had done the same.

After a few blood-soaked minutes, Eric detached himself and kicked the body aside. Godric had already finished feeding, as well as Marcela, who was fussing with a splatter on her dress.

“I swear, with all the money I have to spent cleaning and replacing gowns, it would be more practical for me to go hunting sky-clad,” she fumed, dabbing uselessly at the bloodstain.

Eric and Godric both took a moment to contemplate the lovely Marcela naked before checking their own clothing for any mess.

“Eric- you have some blood on your chin,” Godric informed him as he reached up, swiped the blood off, and thoroughly licked his fingers. A slight shiver ran through Eric.

“Come, my lads,” Marcela gestured. “Let me show you this fine city by moonlight.”

They walked for a long time, full of the energy that came with a good feeding, as Marcela pointed out the sights.

“And over there- that is the Sorbonne,” she said, pointing to a building that looked silent and looming, the academes having deserted it for the night. “Karl teaches there.”

“And what does he teach?” Eric inquires.

“Rhetoric, of course.”

Eric reminded himself that not all werewolves were primitive creatures.

“What is _that?_ ” Godric asked later, pointing to an exquisitely large building.

“Ah, you have noticed our great cathedral. That is Notre Dame,” the vampire queen informed them. “You left Paris before they began building it. It is truly beautiful.”

Eric nodded, looking up, mesmerized by the flying buttresses, the intricate stone carvings, and the massive stained-glass windows. Humans may have been such base beings, but occasionally, a certain bolt of inspiration struck them, and they found themselves suddenly capable of art.

“We must be heading back,” Godric informed them. “Dawn is on its way.”

Marcela nodded and steered the gaping Eric away. The walk home was filled with tales of Paris, from things Marcela had seen herself to legends passed down through human’s generations. When the entered the house quietly, the only light in the house was the dying fire, and the three said their goodnights before Marcela went off to her hiding place- Eric hadn’t located it yet- and the men went to their cellar. Eric slid happily into his bed, stretching his long limbs and generally enjoying the feel of cotton on his skin before the sun came over the horizon and his mind went blank.

 

He awoke to the sound of a scream in his mind. Shaking his head, he brushed it off as a dream or a memory- he had heard many screams in his five hundred years- and rose from bed, assuming Godric was still sleeping. Then he looked over at the other bed.

Godric wasn’t there.

Eric wasn’t particularly worried. He got dressed and strode out of the bedroom, assuming Godric had risen early and was perhaps with Marcela.

“Where’s Godric?” he asked as he strode into Marcela’s false bedroom, where the mistress of Paris was dressing, this time in a gown the color of the night sky.

“With you?” she puzzled, using her undead flexibility to lace up the back. “He has not risen yet, as far as I know.”

“He is not in his bed,” Eric said, and Marcela snapped to attention.

“I myself have been up for only a few minutes, and I have not heard him moving about in the house at all. Perhaps we went out hunting?”

Eric shook his head. “No. His clothing was still next to his bed, and he would not go out without dressing properly, not this early in the evening.”

“Well, he is not upstairs,” Marcela informed him, worry in her tone.

Suddenly, a bolt of fear struck Eric as he remembered the cry in his dream. Makers were connected to their progeny, he knew, but the full extent of the bond had never been explored, not between him and Godric.

“Marcela.”

She nodded.

“I have a very bad feeling about this.”

She nodded again- sharply, like a queen. “We will find him, Eric, fear not.”

 

After two hours of useless tracking and hunting, Eric was beginning to go beyond worry and into the realm of fear.

“Where could he have possibly gone?” he asked Marcela.

“I don’t think he went anywhere- not under his own power,” she replied.

Eric’s eyes widened a fraction, and the two looked at each other.

They raced back to the house, flinging the door nearly off its hinges, the candles in the foyer blowing out with the force of their entrance. _“Margeaux! Karl!_ ” Marcela cried out. Eric did not need his vampire hearing to make out the thumping footsteps on the stairs, but he was puzzled as to why only the seamstress appeared.

“What is the matter, my lady?” Margeaux asked.

“Godric has gone missing,” Marcela explained. “You have not seen him, have you?”

The middle-aged woman shook her head. “That’s awful, though. Do you think someone took him? Isn’t he powerful?”

“The most powerful vampire in this city, in all likelihood- no offense, Marcela,” Eric said.

“Where is Karl?” the queen asked.

Margeaux looked around, making sure the few human servants were not there to hear. “Pack meeting,” she whispered. “Didn’t tell me where.”

Eric swore in Old Swedish and was out the door again, almost before Marcela could catch him.

“Calm yourself,” she chastised him as she led them through the streets.

“Calm myself? _Calm myself?”_ Eric all but roared. “How would _you_ feel if your maker suddenly went missing?!”

“Well, considering I staked him two centuries ago, I would be rather surprised!” Marcela snapped back.

Eric nearly stumbled. Staking a vampire more powerful than herself- her _maker,_ no less…Eric suddenly gained a newfound respect for the powerful woman next to him.

“So you, ah….didn’t care for him much?” he awkwardly asked, all thoughts of Godric driven out of his head for a moment.

“I was sick of being at his beck and call all the time,” the queen replied, before softening her voice. “But I understand what it is to care for someone deeply. If it was- well, if it was someone I loved, I would be frantic to find him too.”

“Vampires don’t love,” Eric replied. Then he changed the subject. “Do you know where we are going?”

“That’s a perk of being queen,” Marcela replied. “You know where all the supernatural gathering places are in your territory. Turn left.” They raced down an alley before arriving at a nondescript door in the middle-class part of town.

Eric kicked down the door and roared into the house.

 _“Where is he?”_

The pack of werewolves looked like mice cornered by a large, angry, six-foot-six cat. All but Karl, who looked distinguished as ever.

“Put your fangs away, you’ll not be feeding on any of my people,” he informed Eric, who, with great effort, sheathed the teeth. “Good. Now tell me- who are you looking for?”

“Godric,” Eric said through clenched jaw. “He was not there when the sun went down. So where is he?”

Karl blinked. “I’ve no idea. How would anyone be able to take one as powerful as he?”

“Well, a _pack of werewolves probably could_ ,” Eric growled.

Marcela stepped between them. “Eric, let me.” She swung around to face Karl, and the minute she looked into his eyes, she seized his soul. “ _Karl_ ,” she nearly purred, voice drenched with glamour. “Karl, tell me where the vampire is.”

“I don’t know,” the man answered, eyes unfocused and jaw slack.

Marcela shifted her attention to the pack. “All of you- do you know where the vampire is?”

The entire pack shook their heads as one.

“See, Eric, that wasn’t so hard,” she informed him, dropping the glamour. “We are sorry to have interrupted your meeting. We will now take our leave.”

She dragged the enraged Eric out before he could yell at them some more.

“Did you just glamour a room full of werewolves?” he asked.

She nodded.

“How old _are_ you?”

“Six hundred and thirty-two,” she briskly replied. “Don’t think you will be able to do the same someday. Glamour is my special gift. Also, all those werewolves were terrified of me.”

Eric nodded. “And you are the most powerful vampire in Paris? You are sure?”

“I’m the Queen, aren’t I?”

“Because it must have been a vampire who took him,” Eric postulated.

Marcela shook her head. “Impossible. None of them know you are here. I waited to inform them of your presence so that you two would have a few days of rest. In fact, I don’t believe anyone other than Margeaux and Karl knew of your whereabouts.”

Eric furrowed his brow. “Are there any fairies in Paris?”

Marcela shook her head again. “No. We would have sniffed them out quickly. You know fairies…”

Eric made a noise of frustration that sounded eerily similar to a bark. “Then where has he gone? He didn’t just vanish, and nothing other than a pack of werewolves, a group of vampires, or a fairy is powerful enough to get him!”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Marcela’s voice reflected Eric’s anger and fear. “There’s nobody else with that type of magic and power!”

 _Magic._

Eric stopped cold.

“Marcela. How powerful is Madame Monteaux?”

Marcela’s eyes widened. “I don’t know the full extent of it- I have never seen her cast a spell-”

 _She knew Godric was there._

Eric was running so fast his feet barely touched the ground. Marcela easily kept pace and even tried to edge him out, desperate to prevent her door from being broken down. She was too late- Eric crashed into it, flashed up the stairs, and hauled the witch out of bed by the throat.

 _“Where is he?”_ Eric roared, eyes aflame with rage.

“I-I don’t-” she choked, eyes rolling in terror. “Madame- help-”

“Eric, _let her go_ ,” Marcela hissed. Fortunately for him, Eric respected his elders. The seamstress jumped backwards, but Marcela stopped her.

 _“Margeaux.”_

Madame Monteaux froze, eyes going blank, jaw slackening.

“Where is Godric?” Marcela asked, voice so honeyed and smooth that Eric found himself falling under her trance as well. He shook his head vigorously, clearing his mind.

“I don’t know,” Margeaux droned.

“Did you do anything to him?”

“Yes.”

Eric lunged forward, but Marcela seized his arm in a crushing grip.

“What did you do with him?”

“I sold him to a holy man.”

“And how did you get him out of the cellar?”

“Spelled him and the big one to sleep, gagged him, wrapped him in silver chains and dragged him out,” the witch informed Marcela, unaware.

“And how did you get him to this holy man? What did the man want? Why did you do it? Tell me _everything,_ ” the queen ordered, laying on the glamour.

“The priest sent me men to help carry the demon- I put him in a sealed coffin,” Margeaux explained. “Paid me plenty, too.”

“Why did the priest want him?”

“Said he wanted to rid the city of the light from the demons of darkness. Said the abomination would see the light of God and the whole city would watch it burn like a torch for righteousness.”

“And after the priest’s men took the coffin, where did they go? Where is Godric now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “He didn’t tell me. Said it was safer that way.”

Marcela looked at Eric. “Anything else?”

Eric shook his head, trying to clear his head of anger and fear to make room for rational thought.

“Do you want to take care of her, or shall I?” Marcela asked him graciously.

“You,” he barely managed to grunt, and kept thinking as Marcela ripped the traitorous witch’s throat out.

Where would they have taken Godric? A priest, a holy man- a church, they would have brought him to “holy ground”, somewhere where mortals felt superior. But there were hundreds of churches in Paris, how would he know-

 _The Great Cathedral_.

Eric realized.

 _Notre Dame. The bastards have him at Notre Dame._

“I know where he is!” Eric shouted before sprinting out the door without Marcela. He ran faster than he ever thought he could, a blur to the few humans unlucky enough to have reason to be on the streets of Paris at midnight. Dawn was still few hours away, but he wanted Godric back far before then. And he _would_ bring Godric back.

The miles passed in minutes, but it felt like hours before Eric was standing at the entrance of Notre Dame. He stopped, panting, trying to think of where Godric would be. The cellar? Strapped to an altar? He looked up, catching his bearings.

 _A torch for righteousness._

 _The light of God._

 _The whole city would watch him burn._

Suddenly, he realized.

 _The roof._

Eric leapt straight up, grabbed onto one carving, and began ascending the walls of Notre Dame like a particularly deadly vine, twining his way up as fast as his vampire speed would allow. Dimly, he was aware of being high up in the air, but fear for Godric had replaced the fear for himself. Finally, he vaulted the last eight feet and landed on the edge of the roof.

And there he was.

Silver chains bound him to a giant cross, and a gag in his mouth prevented him from shrieking in pain. Eric could see where the silver was burning into his flesh, and the scent made him sick.

“Back, demon!” a voice roared before a slim cord struck him across the cheek and the silver burned him. He faced the priest, doing a little roaring of his own, but the old man was quick with what appeared to be a silver whip. Eric leapt back, wary of the stake in the man’s other hand.

“I will send you back to hell, devil!” the priest vowed, but was cut off by a blur that knocked him straight off the roof. He fell, screaming, before it stopped suddenly with a sickening crunch. Marcela stood passively, watching.

The moment the priest was no longer an immediate threat, Eric lunged for Godric. He tore off his vest and covered his hands so that the silver would not burn him as badly when he started to unwind the chains. He tried to be as gentle as possible, but the silver was stuck to Godric’s flesh, and he was forced to leave the gag in. The humans may have noticed a screaming priest falling from the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the city, and it wasn’t a good idea to add a shrieking vampire to the situation. Still, the sound Godric made- a guttural gasping- was so full of pain that Eric wished it were he suffering this, rather than his maker.

Marcela suddenly appeared next to him, her own hands wrapped in pieces of her skirt. She aided Eric in maneuvering the last chains off Godric, who fell limply forward. Eric caught him and then removed the gag.

 _“Eric_ ,” Godric gasped, before falling into unconsciousness. Eric gently picked him up, cradling him in his arms as gently as a vampire could. Godric may have been a thousand years his elder, but he was light as a feather in Eric’s powerful arms, almost childlike. The burns were deep all across his body, and Eric wanted to take care of him so badly it hurt.

“This way,” Marcela beckoned, opening a trapdoor and descending down the stairs before helping Eric maneuver Godric. Working together, the two managed to get the grievously injured vampire down the levels of the Cathedral to the entrance, where Eric alone carried the burden. Godric was unmoving in his arms as they walked home as fast as they could without jostling the wounds.

“He needs blood,” Eric said as they entered the house through the ruined door.

“Give him yours,” Marcela told him.

Eric looked at her.

“We must put him to bed, and you must give him your blood. It is powerful- you are old, after all- and if it is still not enough, I will give some of my own. I have seen a few injuries like this in my time, and vampire blood will heal him quicker than human’s.”

Eric nodded and let Marcela open the door to their room. Eric placed Godric gently down onto the sheets and looked at his maker. He looked so young.

“Godric,” he whispered. The vampire’s eyes fluttered open, weakly. Eric took a knife from his belt and quickly slit his wrist, offering it to Godric, who immediately latched on like his life depended on it-which it did, really. Marcela watched, stone-still, and did not complain about the blood dripping onto the quilts. The wounds slowly began to heal before their eyes.

“Stop, Eric,” she said. “Before he takes too much. I will give him mine now, and then he will rest.”

Eric nodded and reluctantly took his wrist from Godric. It was quickly replaced by Marcela’s, and the only sign that Godric could tell the difference was another eye-fluttering. He took less from Marcela and finally slumped back against the pillows, seemingly dead to the world.

“Now he must rest, and so must you,” Marcela said. “It is daybreak.”

Eric realized she was right, and that he had ignored the signs of dawn for too long. He slumped forward, fast asleep. Marcela maneuvered him next to Godric and then left for her own sleeping chamber.

 

Eric flew awake the next night, fear seizing him as he remembered all that had happened.

“Godric!” he gasped, almost not expecting a reply.

“I am here, my child,” his maker replied, and Eric sat up to find Godric crouched at the end of the bed. There was no sign of the gaping wounds.

“You’re- you’re better,” Eric stuttered.

Godric nodded. “Thank you, Eric. For saving me, and for giving me your blood. I would have died if you had not gotten there in time.”

If Eric could have paled any more, he would have, because the reality of his situation suddenly hit him over the head. Godric had almost _died._ Godric, the one constant in his life. Godric, his companion on and off over five centuries. Godric, his friend, his maker, his _everything_.

So Eric did the only thing his instinct could come up with. He lunged forward, grabbed Godric, and yanked him down into a kiss that would have killed a mere mortal.

Godric, rather than stiffening up or yanking away- or ripping Eric to shreds- moaned eagerly as his fangs popped out, and tangled his hands in Eric’s long hair. The Norseman ran his hands up and down Godric’s bare back, feeling the powerful muscles and tracing the tattoos that he knew like the back of his hand. The vampires moved against each other in a fierce, erratic rhythm, and when Godric pushed him back against the bed and ground their hips together, Eric’s fangs sliced his lower lip and both tasted sweet, sticky blood. That, of course, increased Eric’s desire tenfold, and he ran his fangs down Godric’s neck before biting down, hard. Godric made a noise that might have been a yelp.

“Godric…so scared…you died,” Eric mumbled against his neck. “Can’t go- need you- _love you-”_

Godric swore in a long-dead language. “Yes, Eric- _mine_ , you’re _mine_ \- love you, yes, _mine_ -”

 

Outside the door, Marcela smiled.


End file.
